Scild
by landofmyth
Summary: The citizens of Camelot had born witness to many, many executions, but this one was different. This sorcerer was different.


A/N: ahhh it feels good to get back in the game. how's everybody doing.

alright, so this is a short 'n sweet little oneshot i wrote in a frenzy and finished at 3 am. if there are any glaring mistakes feel free to point and laugh.

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"Now then, _sorcerer_," Agravaine DuBois spat with gleeful malice, "have you any last words?"

The thin, ragged figure tied to the stake was quiet for a moment. Then, for the first time since he had been dragged from the dungeons to the pyre, he raised his head.

Scattered gasps and quiet murmurs could be heard from the unusually solemn crowd of townspeople, as not all had believed the rumors spread by the castle servants – but there was no denying it now. Though his face was dirty, bruised, and bleeding, there wasn't a soul among them who couldn't recognize the King's young manservant.

Merlin let his eyes drift over the throng, searching the faces of these people he had known for years for the unique combination of revulsion and fear that only showed itself when they looked upon magic. Seconds passed and his wandering eyes widened slightly in surprise. He saw not the hatred he expected, but _sorrow_. He wasn't being reviled – he was being _mourned_.

He caught the gaze of the florist from the lower town who had begun to weep silently and he felt his own eyes stinging as the realization rolled over him in a wave. The hard lines of fear and pain around his mouth softened and he regarded the grieving citizens with gentle gratitude.

He closed his eyes for a moment and composed himself, then looked not to the royal balcony, where Lord Agravaine stood gloating, but to a window whose curtains only half-concealed a blonde-haired shadow. Merlin's face was serene, wise and forgiving, and the townspeople thought fleetingly that their King's manservant was perhaps not quite as young as they had thought.

"The prat's heard everything he needs to hear already," the boy said softly, a sad smile tugging at his bloodstained lips, "I just hope he'll remember it all without me here to remind him."

The quip was so unexpected and yet so _typical_, there were a couple of startled chuckles elicited among the watery smiles of the crowd. Agravaine, already seething at his apparent dismissal, was not so amused.

"You _dare_ insult your Sovereign!?" he slammed his fist on the balcony rail and all but roared, "Was your _betrayal_ not enough, you insolent welp!?"

Merlin's eyes, which had been soft with fondness, hardened and froze to ice as he turned to regard the fuming lord.

"YOU'RE WRONG!"

Both Merlin and Agravaine started and turned their attention to the gathered citizens. The florist, tears still streaming down her cheeks, set her jaw and clenched her fists by her sides.

"You're wrong," she repeated, glaring at Agravaine, "this boy is no traitor."

She turned swiftly on her heel and began to make her way to the pyre, her fellow townsfolk making no move to stop her. Her voice carried easily over the shocked silence and gained strength as she crossed the distance to Merlin.

"This boy has been nothing but kind and giving since the moment he stepped foot in this kingdom that would see him dead. He's had more opportunities than anyone to hurt the King, and his father before him, and he never did. He never _would_ – anyone can see how deeply he cares for Arthur."

She climbed up onto the raised wooden platform and stood in front of Merlin, facing the balcony as though to physically shield him from Agravaine's accusations. She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"I would like to confess to a crime."

Merlin, who had been too startled to do much more than stare, jerked against his bonds and cried out in panic, "Mary, **stop_!_**"

Mary paid the terrified boy behind her no mind. It was an adult's job to look after children, after all.

"Three years ago, when my daughter fell gravely ill, I knew she was dying. I had seen the signs, and I was resigned to my loss. Calling Gaius was little more than a formality. But when he came around with Merlin in tow, something incredible happened. Something miraculous."

Merlin's fearful look gave way to utter shock.

"As Gaius was telling me his findings, Merlin was sitting next to my daughter, holding her hand. I glanced over just in time to catch his lips moving and his eyes flash gold, and my heart just about stopped in my chest. But when I looked down at my daughter, her breathing had eased, and there was color in her cheeks."

Mary clutched her hands tightly to her chest and smiled through her tears.

"Merlin saved my baby girl's life – as he has saved our King's life many times, I'm sure."

Her smile dropped and she looked at Agravaine almost daringly.

"I have harbored this sorcerer for three years," she declared, "and if you intend to burn him, you'll have to burn me as well."

Merlin shook uncontrollably behind the florist who had always been kind to him, who had developed a habit of tucking flowers into his hair, his collar, and his pockets whenever he passed by, who had never looked at him with anything but trust and affection in her eyes. If his hands had not been secured above him, he would have fallen to his knees and wept.

Before Agravaine could recover from his state of paralyzed disbelief, Mary was joined by a larger man with a round belly and a warm face.

"I may not have known about the magic," the owner of the town sweets shop began, "but I can still vouch for him. I can't count the number of times he's come into my shop with his meager servant's wages, purchased some candies, and immediately given them to the village children."

He shook his head in amazement. "Even though he has the most work to do out of everyone in this city, he always makes time to play with the children, or even just talk to them.

"Merlin is among the kindest souls I have ever had the privilege of meeting." The man's warm face cooled with determination as he also firmly declared: "If you intend to burn him, you'll have to burn me as well."

And with that, the floodgates opened, and the normally docile common folk swarmed the platform, each telling their own tales of the care, generosity, and genuine kindness of the King's clumsy manservant. Before long, the crowd that had once been huddled beneath the balcony looking upon Merlin with sorrow shifted to surround him like a living shield.

Agravaine yelled and screamed from the balcony and ordered the guards present to restrain the frenzied citizens and get on with the execution. The guards looked at each other and silently remembered all the times when Merlin had brought them food and water during long shifts and stayed a while to keep them company. They looked together towards the boy who had without fail memorized each and every one of their names, and made their decision.

Their weapons clattered to the ground with sharp finality as they turned and joined in the defense of a sorcerer, who tilted his head back to rest on the hard wood pole behind him and wept.

In all the chaos, no one had noticed when a shadow had disappeared behind a fluttering curtain.

"Well this is a bit of a problem, isn't it?"

The crowd stiffened and fell silent at the sound of the strong voice from the palace stairs.

"I can't exactly burn half my kingdom to death, now can I?"

King Arthur Pendragon drew his sword and slowly descended the steps. The crowd wavered, considering whether or not to hold their ground against their sovereign, but something told them to step back. The protectors made a path for their king to their sorcerer, whose shoulders still shook with quiet sobs as he watched Arthur's approach.

The king stopped directly in front of Merlin and regarded him with an unreadable expression. Merlin looked up at him fearlessly through his tears.

Arthur sighed in exasperation.

"You always have to go and cause trouble, don't you, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin's grin lit up the entire courtyard.

"Of course, Sire," he responded cheerfully, "otherwise you'd get bored."

Arthur cut the ropes binding his best friend to the pyre and caught him as he fell forward in what was definitely _not_ a hug and whispered _idiot_ into his dark matted hair.

The citizens of Camelot smiled.


End file.
